One moment to cherish
by Dellinah
Summary: Whether this is a dream, a nightmare, insanity; Rasticore can't tell. But Toffee is back in his arms, and that's what matters tonight. (Tofficore - Rasticore/Toffee - one-shot, smut).


**Heyo! I'm back with another one-shot. I had published this on AO3 since did not have a character tag for Rasticore (How dare they, he's so great!), but now that they do, I thought I might as well publish it here too.**

 **The Tofficore pairing (Toffee x Rasticore) is not very popular but the small fandom it has is great. So if you think it is something you might enjoy, go check out the Tofficore tag on Tumblr and go read the other fics of it on AO3, it's got great content!**

 **Anyway, this is set after Toffee's death and in an AU where Rasticore did not follow Heinous after that. I just wanted them to be together, ok? Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Toffee is dead. And Rasticore knows that.

He knows it because he saw Star's magical blast hit Toffee with the force of a thousand suns and melt his skin and bones in mere seconds. He saw the pillar fall over the goo that the former general had become with a loud, painful thud – ending whichever shred of Toffee's life was left in that messy goo.

To say that Toffee might have survived that attack was ludicrous at least and pure insanity at most.

But then again, maybe Rasticore has gone insane.

That's the one explanation he can come up with when he wakes up in the middle of the night to see Toffee standing in the entrance of the ruined temple that Rasticore is using as shelter. That's him, there's no doubt about that; and it leaves Rasticore speechless. So, all he does is stare.

Toffee stands by the destroyed doorway, naked as the day he was born, expression unreadable – there might be a small smile on his face, but maybe it's just the way the moonlight is hitting him that gives off the impression. Under the faint moonbeams and dark shadows cast by the ruins around them, the only thing Rasticore can see clearly is Toffee's eyes.

Yellow, shiny eyes staring at him without ever breaking contact with the soldier; almost like Toffee's life would end if he looked away from him. Only silence, as though they're alone in the world.

"Rast," Toffee calls at last, breaking the silence like a mirror that suddenly shatters into a million pieces and cuts the skin of those around it.

Rasticore practically jumps up off the bed, soul almost leaving his body with the scare, and for a second, he worries that his heart might stop. To hear that nickname being called by that voice was something he never thought he'd experience again in this life.

And it still sends as many shivers down his spine as the first time he heard it, all those years ago; before the stress-relieving sex had turned into love and screwed Rasticore up for good.

Because all he was for his general was a toy, someone to have fun with, a good-looking soldier that Toffee liked to use for his pleasure when the stress of leading the army got too much to deal with or when Toffee randomly became horny.

That was all he was, and he'd accepted that.

Which was why he never told Toffee that he wanted – no, that he needed more from him. More than to just have a quick release, more than to just feel his flesh and bones without getting to feel Toffee's essence, more than just getting an orgasm and saying goodnight before they parted ways like nothing had happened. Because to Toffee it might be nothing, but to Rasticore, Toffee was everything he wanted, but everything he knew he'd never have.

It isn't until Toffee walks up to him and places a hand on his chest that Rasticore comes back to reality, snapping out of the swirling mess of thoughts that is his head in that moment. But he barely has time to compose himself as Toffee pushes him down onto the bed and his back hits it with a soft thud and Rasticore lets out a scared shriek that contrasts with his heavy, menacing figure.

Rasticore lifts his upper body off the old mattress with his elbows, looking up at the general. He knows it's something Toffee enjoys, to look down on him. Because of the height difference, he seldom gets to do that. But when he does, the look on his face is like that of a starving predator who just cornered a defenseless prey.

And that's the look he has on his face right now, as he stands in front of Rasticore and stares down at his soldier. It's the look of hunger, of happiness, of victory, of pleasure – and something else that shimmers in his eyes but Rasticore can't quite tell what it is.

Lust? Probably.

And then Toffee licks his lips right before he jumps onto the soldier, straddling Rasticore's waist; his already hardening member rubbing against Rasticore's clothed one – and suddenly his pants feel much tighter than ever before.

All the air Rasticore had in his lungs is driven out of him when Toffee puts his hands on either side of the soldier's face and holds him in place as he leans down and kisses him; shoving his tongue deep into Rasticore's mouth before he even has time to acknowledge what's happening.

Toffee starts arching his back and slowly rocking his hips against Rasticore's body as he deepens the kiss, begging for some friction as his dick starts throbbing with arousal and he knows it might hurt if he doesn't touch it soon.

But all Rasticore can think about with the small rational part of his brain that still hasn't given in to the arousal and the absurdity of the situation is that this shouldn't be happening – it cannot be happening.

He clings onto the last shred of sanity he can find in him to force himself to take his hands to the back of Toffee's neck and intertwine his fingers through locks of silky black hair and pull the general's head away from him. And that's difficult, not only because Toffee fights against the pull, but also because the last thing Rasticore wants is to part with Toffee after so long. But if he doesn't break the kiss, he might give in to his desires completely.

Toffee pants heavily, tongue hanging out of his mouth, still trying to reach Rasticore's lips as Rasticore's grip on his hair keeps them separated. Rasticore's breathing is even heavier, feeling like he can't get enough air into his lungs. And that's how they stay for a while; maybe because they don't know what to do, maybe because the blood flow hasn't returned to their heads yet.

"Rast," Toffee cries out, rocking his hips in desperation and forcing his head down to try to go back to kissing, "Please..."

"You're dead." Rasticore states, and that seems to get to Toffee, for he stops his whimpering and merely stares down at the soldier.

He takes a deep breath, and his previous savage desire is replaced by something else as he stops trying to kiss Rasticore and relaxes his body, laying over the soldier's warm chest and wrapping his arms around Rasticore's middle with a sigh.

Rasticore bites his lips and sighs as well, feeling his eyes watering up for reasons unknown – or maybe he does know, but refuses to acknowledge. If he thinks about it, he knows he will break down. So, all he does is run his fingers through Toffee's hair, something so trivial but it feels so intimate that Rasticore's heart flutters and his stomach feels like a knot. Toffee doesn't move away, he doesn't slap Rasticore's hand away from his hair – he just lets him touch it. Toffee has never, ever, allowed him to touch him in any way that didn't end up in an orgasm; for he thought such touches were useless. Toffee did not crave intimacy like Rasticore did, and he would never give in to the emotional desires of the soldier.

That's what lets Rasticore know that whatever this is, it's not real.

And that stings his heart like the tail of a venomous scorpion.

"I'm back," Toffee breathes out, eyes closed as he nuzzles into Rasticore's chest, "I came back, for you, for you only; Rasticore, Rast." He moves his head so that his chin lays flat on Rasticore, yellow eyes glimmering, with something that might resemble a smile if you look hard enough.

Rasticore closes his eyes and sighs.

A dream. That's what it is. What it must be.

Either that, or he's gone insane. He almost prays for it to be the latter, because if it is a hallucination then maybe it will last forever; and he and his beloved general would never have to part ever again. But if it's a dream, he will wake up. It will end.

And it will kill him inside, all over again.

Toffee coming back to life, because of Rasticore, because he loved him – that was Rasticore's dream. His impossible, out-of-reach dream. And to have this happen in his sleep, only for it to end when he wakes up, it's torture. This will end, he knows it, and Toffee will escape him like sand that runs down through your fingers and you can't hold onto it no matter how hard you try.

And that is too much. Rasticore's eyes start to leak as he wraps his arms around Toffee's torso and he holds him as tightly as he can to feel their bodies pressed together; to never let him go again. The sand in the hourglass is going down, and Rasticore is trying to keep it up, stop time, but he can't. And that hurts.

"Hush," Toffee tells him in a sweet voice, reaching up to dry the soldier's eyes, "To show weakness is a soldier's-"

"… greatest mistake," Rasticore finishes the sentence he's heard so many times before, when they were but general and soldier, comrades fighting in the war and nothing else. He shouldn't cry, he must not cry. But he can't help it. Another sob escapes him when he looks up at Toffee, "You are dead."

"No," Toffee reaches for Rasticore's face again and caresses it tenderly, "I'm not. I'm here, I'm back," He takes a deep breath, "I came back for you, Rast."

Rasticore mentally curses at whichever God is listening for putting him through this. Why must it all feel so real; he can even feel Toffee's chest going up and down on his stomach, his sweat dripping from his forehead, the warmth coming from his excited body, all of it feels so real and so close to him…

"You didn't," Rasticore responds, "You wouldn't. Not for me." He sounds bitter, jealous even. He'd do anything for Toffee, anything in the world – but if you asked him, he'd say that he was just doing his job as a soldier and nothing more – whereas Toffee couldn't care less for him. Even if he could come back from death, he wouldn't come back for Rasticore.

Only in his wildest dreams.

"Well," Toffee smiles, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

And that's when Rasticore frowns and sighs, deciding that to hell with his dreams, to hell with reality, to hell with everything. He's been lonely too long, and even if this is merely a dream, hallucination, call it what you may, he won't waste it.

He knows it's pathetic. Other people have pictures, real memories, objects that remind them of their loved lost ones. And all Rasticore has is a wish that manifested itself in the form of a crazy dream that he would both masturbate to and cry over when he woke up. But when you have nothing, you take what you get. And without Toffee, he had nothing.

In a swift move, Rasticore sits up, holding Toffee's hips and sitting him on his lap as he resumed the kiss they'd broken. Toffee is slightly surprised, but pleased, as he returns the kiss, wrapping his arms around Rasticore's neck for support.

Their tongues fight for dominance in a sloppy mess, slobber wetting their chests and falling on Toffee's member – the need for friction returning to him and getting to Rasticore as well as his own dick started to harden in his pants as the kiss became deeper.

Toffee starts rocking his hips again, craving friction as his shaft slightly rubs against the brim of Rasticore's pants and his abs; and it's just not enough. He muffles painfully into the kiss, taking one of his hands to wrap around his neglected member, letting out a relieved sigh on the very first stroke.

But it doesn't get further than that, because Rasticore is quick to stop him. He holds Toffee's wrist and moves it away; which Toffee reacts to with an angry growl and a whimper.

"Rast…" He hisses.

"Hold on," Rasticore says as he pants. He holds Toffee and pushes him out of his lap, standing up so that he can get rid of his trousers and boots.

Toffee's angry frown quickly shifts to a satisfied grin and he bites his lip when he gets to see Rasticore's body again, drooling slightly when he sees the hard, pulsing member; wanting that inside him. He also feels like it's been too long, way too long.

Rasticore sits back down on the corner of the bed with his legs apart, slowly stroking himself to give his dick some much needed attention and getting himself even harder. It's when he nods at Toffee to approach him again, and so he does; eyes sparkling with lust and desire as he sits over Rasticore's legs, back against his chest and his tail brushing on the taller lizard's member.

Toffee looks over his shoulder and his lips meet Rasticore's for another kiss; their slobber dripping on Rasticore's dick and making it slippery. Rasticore keeps on stroking himself while he loops one arm around Toffee's waist to do the same for his partner and Toffee gasps into the kiss, rocking his hips into Rasticore's hand to get more sensation.

Toffee lays his back on Rasticore's chest, head falling over Rasticore's shoulder as he closes his eyes and moans; one hand over that of his partner that strokes him and the other held onto Rasticore's neck for support.

"R-Rast," Toffee moans out, barely able to breathe with eyes half shut, "I-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence as Rasticore forces Toffee to stand up once more, letting go of Toffee's dick to tug one of the cheeks of his ass instead, holding the base of his own cock with the other; impatient and shaking in anticipation as he guides the general back down, only this time onto his cock.

In the moment that he lines himself up with Toffee's entrance, the general sits down onto him and lets out a deep scream when he feels Rasticore penetrate him fully; pain and pleasure mix together as he feels Rasticore drag against him roughly and his back falls limp against Rasticore's chest.

Rasticore's breathing speeds up with a hiss and he holds Toffee's leg and shoulder so that he doesn't fall over, even if Rasticore is almost falling over as well with the sudden shot of pleasure when he felt Toffee's warmth around his member.

Toffee wraps one arm around Rasticore's shoulder for added support and his feet barely touch the ground, but it's just enough for him to jump up and give himself a much-needed boost to bounce on the soldier. Rasticore's dick throbs against Toffee's walls, and Toffee cries out when he can feel Rasticore touch something inside him that sends him shivering.

Rasticore helps Toffee move up and down, shivering with each thrust; and it isn't until the general is distracted that Rasticore bites down on his shoulder – hard. So hard that the skin breaks, and Toffee bleeds. He screams in pain with a satisfied smile, but Rasticore is unfazed, focused on the metallic taste that invades his mouth. He lets go of Toffee's shoulder to admire the wound he's made, a quick mark he left on Toffee to signify that he's his – before Toffee's body heals it as the skin grows back and it fades away. And how Rasticore wishes it would stay. A mark, a wound, anything on Toffee's skin that would show he's been touched by Rast – that he was his.

Why must it fade away, Rasticore asks himself, his heart sinking in his chest.

Maybe because Toffee wants Rasticore to focus on fucking him or because he thinks the soldier is pathetic, he jumps up high on Rasticore's dick again and brings his attention back to their bigger act. Rasticore gasps in surprise and Toffee smiles slyly.

Toffee then holds his own dick that was hard and moving along with his jumps and starts stroking it in the rhythm of their sex – and he's lost in a moment of pure bliss. And my god, does Rasticore think he's beautiful. The sweat dripping from his forehead, the pained yet pleased sounds he makes with each jump, the once tidy hair now all messy and falling over his eyes; Rasticore even has to hold himself back not to come immediately with the sight. Because he doesn't want to, not yet.

If a dream is all he'll have, he wants it to last longer.

He admires Toffee for a while longer before he grabs Toffee's neck and lifts him from his dick, and Toffee hisses as he feels Rasticore slide out of him – both because of the pain and because he misses the sensation of being filled.

Toffee then gasps when Rasticore stands up and slams him down on the bed, chin flat against the mattress. His knee-jerk reaction is to twitch and try to escape, but Rasticore keeps the strong grip on his neck to keep him in place as he thrusts into Toffee once more – but this time, he goes as slowly as he can.

Toffee lets out a strained, low gasp through his constricted throat as his hands scratch the bed, searching for something to hold onto but coming up with nothing. Each inch is more agonizing than the last, and it feels like an eternity before Rasticore's dick is entirely inside him again and the torture of the waiting is over.

The adrenaline washes off and Toffee stops moving, laying still as he struggles to breathe with the choking grip still on his neck. But Rasticore does not move either, and he does not let go of Toffee's neck. He just looks down at the desperate general.

"R-Rast," He breathes out, looking up at Rasticore with hungry eyes and attempting to move himself against the other lizard's dick but Rasticore's grip makes it impossible. Rasticore is not moving, he's not touching him in any way – the only thing making contact is his dick sitting still in his ass and his hand holding his neck, and that is not enough for Toffee.

Well, it's not enough for Rasticore either, but he needs to hold himself back. Because once he starts thrusting, he knows he won't be able to stop until they both come. Instead, he bends over the general and starts kissing his neck, nibbling on Toffee's shoulders, dragging his teeth against the soft, grey skin and feeling the muscles underneath twitch with each kiss.

And Toffee melts at the touch, shivering, mewling, shrieking. Any shred of the dominant general he is fades away when he turns his head to look over his shoulder as much as he can and tries to reach Rasticore's mouth with his own; desperate for a kiss, a touch, a move, anything.

"Rast," He breathes out again when Rasticore refuses to kiss his mouth and keeps on kissing his shoulders instead, "Move."

Rasticore smiles as he looks down at Toffee looking up at him with those deceiving innocent-looking eyes. It's quite amusing how easily Toffee will give his dominance up in the bedroom – something only Rasticore knew about. And that he loved.

Toffee can't get enough air into his lungs. He plumps his chin down on the mattress and sniffs, the teasing is too much. His dick is begging to be touched, his body craves moving, and it's not happening.

"Rast!" He growls, hands turning into fists.

Rasticore laughs under his breath as he slowly pulls out of Toffee until only the tip remains inside him and goes back in even slower. Toffee growls more and his eyes start getting watery with the frustration, his moves constricted by Rasticore's tight grip and his desperate pleas ignored all together.

"Gosh, I missed you," Rasticore whispers, and it isn't until the words have been spoken that he realizes what he's said. Toffee's whimpers cease for a moment and all he does is stare up at the soldier over his shoulder with wide eyes – confused? Appalled? Rasticore can't tell.

In other times, Rasticore might have felt too self-conscious or worried about saying anything that resembles a feeling, but it doesn't matter now. With another slow pull and slow thrust, he kisses Toffee's shoulder again.

"I missed you so much," Rasticore whispers into Toffee's ears as he licks his neck, thrusting into the general with a steady pace now, but still painfully slow each time, "So much."

Toffee's tail wraps itself around Rasticore's middle and pulls the soldier closer to him, as if he's afraid that Rast might run away if he doesn't hold him in place. The hold is so tight that Rasticore almost can't breathe, but he doesn't care. He needs this, he wants this.

Toffee's hands turn into fists as he grabs onto the mattress, almost tearing it up and his body tenses up with each agonizingly slow thrust; the sweat dripping down his forehead going down his face and neck.

"Fuck, I missed you too," Toffee breathes out with great effort, as though saying that is difficult, and it probably is considering the amount of pride he's got in him, "I missed you so much, Rast, so much; my Rasticore."

Rasticore wants to cry. This is all he wants to hear, all he's wanted to hear for a long time. He doesn't care that it's a dream anymore, he's way too far gone to differentiate between reality and fantasy; all he cares is that he has his precious general back.

Rasticore lets go of Toffee's neck and he finally breathes deeply again, only to have the air taken out of him again when Rasticore flips him over in a swift move. He wants to look Toffee in the eyes as he fucks him into oblivion, and he doesn't know it, but Toffee wants to look him in the eye as well. Because boy, did he miss that eye as well, with the purple stone in the other glimmering under the moonlight.

Rasticore holds Toffee's dick and starts stroking him in the rhythm of his thrusts, drooling down onto it and making it slippery. Toffee's head lolls back onto the mattress and he closes his eyes, opening his legs wide to ease the soldier's moves on him as he lays down and lets Rasticore use him as he pleases.

The sounds he makes with each thrust drive Rasticore insane and it gets harder and harder to delay his climax by the minute. It's almost too much when he looks at the beautiful creature laying there, all but sprawled out for him and for him only like a toy as he feels Toffee's warmth engulfing him – and the sounds he makes, my God, those sounds will be the death of him.

Rasticore focuses on the sounds for a while, ignoring the intense pleasure irradiating from his genitals to be able to memorize the sounds Toffee makes. He wants to think of them later, to remember them, he wants to have them forever in his memory.

It's when the whimpering, moaning and growling slowly turn into a stutter – Toffee is trying to talk, but the dick slapping against his ass seems to be making it hard. Rasticore slows down a bit, not too much, but it seems to be enough for Toffee.

"R-Rast," Toffee opens his eyes and looks up at him, tongue hanging out his mouth as he pants heavily, "I lo- I love- I love y-"

Crap. Now it's too much.

Rasticore does not want to hear that. That's the one thing that would make the fantasy too painful to bear, that's the one thing he wants to be a reality and hurts that it isn't. How can Toffee play with his feelings like that even after he's gone?

It's not fair.

So, he starts pounding into the general – hard, fast, strong, - making it impossible for Toffee to form a coherent sentence again. Because he does not want to hear Toffee say those words – not now, not like this.

All Toffee can feel is the soldier going inside him, again and again, knocking the air out of him each time and never giving him time to catch his breath. He's warm, panting, tired, sweaty, pained; and it feels incredible - each thrust is driving him closer and closer to the edge, with each shiver and each shot of pleasure shaking his body, until his body gives in and Toffee comes all over his stomach; shooting strings of his seed on his abs and chest.

And it's such a beautiful sight that Rasticore can't help much longer and follows suit, filling Toffee to the brim. They both stay still, trying to catch their breaths; overwhelmed, tired, happy – incredible. Their muscles begin to relax, and their members start to soften, as they slowly come down from their high.

Rasticore leans over again and starts licking Toffee's stomach, licking him clean, tasting his seed and loving it – it's one of the most intimate things you can know about someone, and he gets to know it about Toffee, to know how Toffee tastes, his beautiful general, his beautiful dream.

He pulls himself out of Toffee when he's done licking him, seed dripping out of Toffee's ass and hitting the floor. Toffee can feel the burning from the pounding and he knows it will hurt in the morning when he's over his orgasm, but he does not care right now. Instead, he smiles as Rasticore crawls into bed with him, wrapping one arm around him and bringing him closer.

"Fuck," Toffee breathes out as he snuggles into the muscled chest, "That was-"

"I love you," Rasticore interrupts him and Toffee's eyes widen. Rasticore smiles slyly – he gets to say it first, he wins this one. Toffee smiles back at him and lays down on his chest, closing his eyes.

"I love you too, Rast." He sighs in content, "I love you, so much. I missed you."

Rasticore's feelings return to him now that their sex is over and done with – oh, crap. Back to hurting, back to the pain. Having done all this and having the general so close to him, loving him; it hurts way more now that he remembers it won't last. He doesn't realize he's crying until Toffee reaches up to dry his tears.

"Rast?" He whispers, concerned.

"Toff," Rast whispers, touching Toffee's face as well, each curve of his snout and mouth that he was so familiar with and loved so much, "Don't leave me. Ever again."

Toffee smiles, "I won't. Ever again."

"Yes, you will," Rasticore looks aside with a sigh, "When I wake up, you'll be gone."

Toffee shakes his head, "You still think this is a dream, don't you?"

"I know it is. Or maybe I've gone insane," Rast raises an eyebrow, is he really explaining his delusions to his delusion? "You're dead. You're not here."

"I didn't die," Toffee growls lowly, "I was hurt. Almost destroyed. Overpowered," He breathes heavily, "But I'm back. I regenerated. It took me so long, Rast, but I did it. I'm back for you."

"No," Rasticore bites his lip and gulps, "You wouldn't do that for me, general. I'm merely your… boytoy."

Toffee lets out a genuine laugh at Rasticore's childish frown, "Well," He takes a deep breath, "You were. Yes. For a while. But… You're more than that now. To me you are."

Rasticore raises an eyebrow. The moonlight doesn't make it clear, but – was Toffee… blushing?

"How can I know that that's true?" Rasticore's head recoils in doubt.

Toffee smiles, "If I'm still here when you wake up, will that convince you that this is real?"

Rasticore looks up and ponders, "Yes. Either that, or that I've really gone insane. But if you're still here when I wake up… I don't mind if it's because of my insanity." He reaches for Toffee's face again, afraid to let go, afraid that it might not be there for him if he lets it go now.

"I'll be here tomorrow, Rast," Toffee leans onto Rasticore's touch, "I'll be here every day and every night from now on. With you."

Rasticore's heart flutters in his chest and his stomach turns. Maybe it's because he's sleepy, but… it feels real. It feels way too real. Could it be…?

"I love you, Toff." He sighs, "Whether or not you're here tomorrow… I need you to know that."

Toffee smiles, "I will be here. And Rast," He pauses, but doesn't sound unsure, "I love you too."

Rasticore smiles and hugs Toffee again, bringing him close to him once more. He's not going to let go. Maybe Toffee will not be there when he wakes up, maybe this was a dream, maybe he's gone insane – but right now, that doesn't matter. He has his general with him, he has Toffee in his arms.

He doesn't know how long this will last – hopefully forever – but it's a moment he wants to cherish.

And under the moonlight, with Toffee in his arms, he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

* * *

 **This was heavily inspired by draw-hideous' amazing Tofficore fanart, this piece in special (warning, NSFW ahead) image/169430462990; I saw it and wanted to create a backstory for it, thank you for letting me write it! And thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts if you feel like it, it'd mean the world to me!**

 **Cuddles and see yah next fic!**


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